


The Rose

by welseykels



Series: Dragon Age: Mira Amell [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Blow Jobs, Brothels, F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 17:00:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5012671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welseykels/pseuds/welseykels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Knight-Captain Cullen finds out that there is a Hero of Ferelden look-a-like at The Blooming Rose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rose

**Author's Note:**

> [Check out my writing masterpage on tumblr!](https://welseykels.tumblr.com/writing)
> 
> @head-bitch-inquisitor was kind enough to lend me her Violet/Ariya Lavellan for this. ♥  
> Warnings: Triggered PTSD

_“I knew an Amell once.”_

Some nights he laid awake in the bunk of his quarters, staring at the ceiling, willing his breathing to even out, for his heart to stop pounding after he'd awoken from another nightmare. He didn't know if it was easier or harder to deal with now that he had his own quarters as the new Knight-Captain. When he had shared rooms, there had been complaints that his sleep talking and nightmares had been disruptive. But now alone, he had nothing to immediately ground him back into the waking world from his nightmares. There was no grumbling Templar to tell him that _this_ room was real, not the shimmering violet one he'd awoken from. Now it took him longer to realize he was here in Kirkwall.

Not in Ferelden.

Not in Kinloch Hold.

Not being tempted by demons.

Not being tortured with her image.

_Her._

_Mira Amell._

The one woman he had always wanted but could never have.

At first it had been because of who they were. He was a Templar. She was a Mage. A talented one, well on her way to becoming the next First Enchanter before she'd even passed her Harrowing, but a Mage nonetheless.

And yet…

Some nights he could still feel her lips on his, that one solitary time that they had touched the morning before her Harrowing.  They'd spent hours that night playing chess, talking as if they'd known each other for longer than the year they had, after he'd foolishly suggested it as a break from her late night studies. And then, as dawn was breaking, and that morning's bells were ringing, she'd stolen a kiss from his lips.

Although, he didn't think it could be called theft if he'd freely given the kiss to her.

His first kiss.

But then she left to become a Grey Warden, and he thought he would never see her again. His heart had ached at the thought.

She asked him once to lay with her, shortly after her Harrowing - the week before she'd left - but he'd stupidly declined, blaming his responsibility to the Maker and the Templar Order. And it was true. But still he'd thought often after she left of what it would have felt like to hold her, to hear her moan as he moved inside her, to say the words out loud that he had wanted so desperately to tell her.

_I think I love you._

Some nights he would wake with the words hanging off his tongue, his body straining against the sheets.  She deserved more than for him to relieve the tension in his lower body quickly to the thought of her. The guilt that overtook him once he was sweaty and sticky with himself nearly tore him in two. She wasn't his to think about. He'd heard a year after she'd ended the Blight, that she had married the bronze-haired man he'd seen with her when she'd saved him and the Circle. The shame only increased in his mind, bringing himself to completion with salacious thoughts of another man's wife. Of a woman who didn't deserve that, after all she'd done.

And yet those were the good nights.

Those were the nights when her face didn't shift into what had been his waking nightmare for so long. Those were the nights when her fingers didn't become claws. Those were the nights when horns didn't protrude from her, her skin a sickly violet.

The nights when she didn't offer all of her in exchange for his soul.

He often wondered if things would have turned out different if he’d accepted her offer that day before she left.

Would the demons have affected him so?

They'd shown him too many images of her.  Some that made him blush just thinking about, others made his skin crawl, but there was one image that they’d shown him that had almost broken his resolve… until he’d seen his brothers and sisters fall one by one. 

The one image that always turned into nightmares and screams in the dark of night.

He could see it now as he sat at his desk, the way she’d tuck a strand of hair behind her ear as she smiled at him, busy stirring something that smelled delicious over the fire, a curly haired babe clinging to her skirts.  His child.  Their child.

The thought of his seed filling her belly until he could hold the small babe in his arms consumed his thoughts on nights like that.  Their babe.  He’d never imagined he would be a father, never imagined that he would ever be one.  But that dream, before it turned into screams and blood, he never knew he could have ever wanted something that much.

Maker, if only she’d been born in Honnleath, if only she’d never had magic manifest, if only he’d never joined the Templars.  In his mind they would have been happy, blissfully so.

If only.

He could have become a farmer like his father, spending the days working out in the hot sun and retiring to a warm bed with the woman he loved.

But she wasn’t his wife. 

Would never be his wife.  Not after the words he’d said to hurt her.

He wished again that she’d never been born a mage, that he’d never joined the Templars.   Then he bit back the thought, who would have saved Ferelden then? 

He was jarred from his thoughts as a messenger entered his office.

“Urgent message for you, Ser.”

He ran a gloved hand over his face, clearing away any lingering thoughts of her.

“What is it?”

“They wouldn’t say, Ser.”

“Who wouldn’t say?”

“Elfy girl, purple markings from one of those clans.  Dressed fancy too, pretty cloak.  Ser.”

“Name?”

“Wouldn’t give one, Ser.”

The messenger passed the sealed note to him, before they were gone.  Leaving him alone to read.

He should never have opened her letter, the wax seal a bright red rose.  He should have known where it was from, should have guessed.  But he’d opened it anyways.

He should never have read the words.

_Knight-Captain Cullen,_

_I’ve heard word around Kirkwall that you were personally acquainted with the Hero of Ferelden during her time in the Circle.  I’ve been making my name at The Blooming Rose in Kirkwall because I have been graced with her appearance.  It seems that everyone wants to claim they slept with the Hero._

_Here is my offer:  A free night - no cost, no strings attached - on me.  I want to know if I measure up to the real woman from someone who knew her - not just claimed they did._

_My girl will meet you at the back door.  Can’t have the Templars know their Captain wants a little fun, now can we?  Just knock five times._

He was certain at first that this was a joke, one of the recruits wanting to see if they could make a fool of their superior officer.  Maybe one of the older Templars, still resentful that he’d been given the position of Knight-Captain while only in his early-twenties.

He tried to push the letter out of his mind, burying himself in his reports for the remainder of the evening.  It was foolish, there was no possible way that he could go to The Rose to sleep with a doppelganger of the woman he’d fallen for when he was nineteen. 

But the dreams of her came again later that night.  Dream filled with her soft, warm skin against his and curly haired babes.

* * *

 

He shouldn't be here. 

His feet had betrayed his mind as he found himself standing in the alleyway.

He shouldn’t be here.

What he should be doing is turning around and heading back to the Gallows, forget this whole thing. 

But instead, he raised his hand, his knuckles hovering over the solid wood. 

_One._

_He shouldn’t give in to this temptation.  He’d resisted it already for two weeks._

_Two._

_Two horrible weeks.  But he wanted to see her._

_Three._

_Even if it wasn’t really her._

_Four._

_He could pretend._

_Five._

_Couldn’t he?_

He waited.  At first there was nothing, but then the door swung open, revealing an elven woman with long silver hair.

“Ah, Knight-Captain.  She wasn’t exactly sure that you’d come.”

“She?”

The woman smiled at him while she nodded, taking his hand and leading him in through the door.  “I’m Violet, by the way.”

 _Violet_.

_Why was everything always violet?_

He shouldn’t have been surprised at the name.  She had Dalish markings and their colour perfectly matched the name of the body they adorned.  This was the woman the messenger spoke of.  She was very pretty, incredibly so, but he shook the thought from his head.  He was here for someone else, for a purpose… what purpose he hadn’t decided yet.  Would he sleep with her?  Or did he just want to look upon her?  See if she truly did look like Mira.  Maybe he could pretend it was her for a moment.

A her who didn’t most likely hate him for words he’d said.

She led him through the back of the building until they stopped in front of a large wooden door.  She held in open for him, closing it once he was inside, leaving him alone with…

_Maker._

It was like she was here.  Like all those years ago.  Brown hair fell past her breasts in soft waves.  Small and delicate, a slim waist flaring into full hips and legs.  Her nose was round, and full cheeks with a smattering of freckles greeted him. 

And Maker, she was only wearing a thin purple dressing gown, almost transparent.  He gulped, trying not to gawk at what he saw beneath.

“Hello Knight-Captain.”

Maker, she even sounded like her.

If he hadn’t known better, that she was somewhere in Ferelden with her husband… Maker, he would have thought it was really her.

It was only when she closed the distance between them that he noticed eyes were wrong.  Mira’s had been - were - a dark green.  This woman’s eyes were brown.  But everything else… Maker.  It was if she was standing in front of him, just as she was those short few years ago.

“What - what is your name?”

She smiled, “Anything you like, Knight-Captain.  You can even call me by her name if that’s what you want.”

Could he?  Could he really call her Mira?

_No._

He wouldn’t shame his memory of her like that.  Then he almost laughed at that thought, shame her memory?  Here he was, almost prepared to have sex with a woman who looked just like her, and he was scared to call her by name.

“I - uh… alright.  But… please don’t call me Knight-Captain, not here.  Cullen will do.”

She smiled, hands already undoing the clasp of the cloak he’d worn, revealing the tunic and breeches he wore instead of his Templar armour.  Less likely to be noticed without it.  “Alright, Cullen.”  Next, her small hands went to the hem of his shirt, pulling it up until she couldn’t anymore, and he helped her remove it the rest of the way. 

Maker, he was really going to do this wasn’t he?

He closed his eyes only for a brief moment, there’s nothing wrong with a bit of fun… right?

They popped back open when her lips pressed to his chest, pink tongue coming out to circle one of his nipples, while her hands moved to cup him through his breeches, stroking the desire already building.  He groaned at the contact.  He’d spent far too long with just his hand for release.

A rumble came from his chest that he hadn’t quite expected when she pulled away, taking a step back.  He watched her intently as she slowly undid the tie at her waist, letting the silken fabric slide from her shoulders to the floor.

He couldn't deny that she was exactly the way he had imagined Mira had looked like beneath her apprentice robes.  Full breasts, the slight dip of her waist before the curve of her hips and stomach began and ran into the full thighs.  Maker. 

His hands moved forward to touch, to caress her, her body already leaning into his touch.

Would the real Mira have responded to him like this?

She walked him backwards until his knees hit the edge of the bed, and she’d motioned for him to sit back against the mass of pillows propped at the head of the bed. 

She climbed atop his knees, fingers quickly working at the ties of his breeches.

They certainly weren’t wasting any time, were they?

“You want this?  You’re certain?”

“Yes.”

His head fell back onto the pillows as she took him in her mouth.

Her lips were soft, her tongue swirling along the crown of him.  One hand moved to stroke him where her mouth couldn’t, the other kneading at his thigh.

He watched her as she moved along him, his large hand holding her hair from her face.  He wanted to see this, see her, the way she looked as she pleasured him.  It was intoxicating and only fueled thoughts of how she’d look beneath him as he took her, how she’d look face scrunched up in pleasure as his tongue teased between her thighs, how she’d look atop him, pale breasts bouncing with each thrust.

His hips bucked at the thought and the hand on his thigh flew upwards, stilling him.  When her fingers moved to rake down his chest after, he saw the claws of her fingers. The hard black juts that connected to violet palms. The same violet as...

_No._

He sat up on the bed, gently moving her back from him as he swung his legs over the bed.

“I can’t do this.” 

He muttered apologies to her as he collected his clothing around the room, pulling it on as quickly as he could.  She sat on her knees on the bed, dumbstruck by his actions.  His head was spinning, the room was too small, he needed to be out.  He needed outside.  He needed away from four walls. 

He all but ran down the stairwell, yanking the doors open in his path, not bothering to shut them behind him.  He didn’t have time.  He needed to be outside.  Now.

Finally, outside The Rose, he sunk against the alley wall, chest heaving breaths.  He should have never come here.  He never should have opened that letter.

But he was here.  He was here in Kirkwall.  Kirkwall.  Not Ferelden.  Not in Kinloch Hold.  Not with her.  That woman had not been her. 

She wasn’t Mira.

_“I knew an Amell once.  She was a special woman.  Never met her like again.”_


End file.
